


safe to fall

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst Lite™, College AU, Different Names, First Date, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, beautiful stranger, happy beginnings?, implied past abusive relationships, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22859809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: It was Saturday night and Anthony Crowley was in love. The problem was that he didn’t know it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 22
Kudos: 128





	safe to fall

**Author's Note:**

> A longer-than-it-should-have-been fic based on the ‘Finally // beautiful stranger” by Halsey. Several lyrics are used in the prose.

It was Saturday night and Anthony Crowley was in love. The problem was that he didn’t know it.  
_  
Just call him_ , he’d thought on a whim, and was reaching for his mobile before he could even stop to think. _It’s fine. Ask if he’s free and wants to hang out. Tonight? Yes, tonight. Right. Call him. Play it cool._

‘Cool’ could have been, should have been Crowley’s middle name. Anything was better than what the J stood for. Most people would think it was definitely not cool to be the first to call— one could come across as desperate for attention, needy. But even as he hit the little green phone icon, Crowley had a feeling that the object of his as-yet-unacknowledged affections wouldn’t mind one bit about what was cool or not.

The aforementioned object of (as-yet-unacknowledged) affection was Ezra Fell, who had curly blond hair and the smartest mouth Crowley had ever heard on a person (other than himself, of course.) They had met, like so many people in college do, at a party, nearly six weeks ago. The party itself had been boring; food hadn’t been that great, the selection of drinks substandard, and Crowley’s usual gang of friends had gone off to get high somewhere, so he sauntered out into the verandah and said, to the first person he noticed who was standing there alone clutching a bottle of Coke, “Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

That person just so happened to be Ezra. He’d turned round and said, “Sorry, what was that?” where Crowley had expected a polite chuckle and a shrug. Crowley had found himself lapping up the attention like a thirsty fox.

“I said, That went down like a lead balloon.”

And just then he’d also blinked into a pair of the brightest eyes he’d ever seen— a colour halfway between crystal-green and sea-grey. Crowley should have known he’d be well and truly whipped from that moment on. The edge of Ezra’s mouth had quirked into a smile halfway between intrigue and amusement, and he tilted his head and said, “That’s an old-fashioned phrase to use.”

“You’re talking about old-fashioned? You’re wearing a bow tie. And a waistcoat.” Crowley almost scoffed, but looking the stranger up and down found himself...liking what he saw. Old-fashioned, maybe, but this one pulled it off rather well.

And Ezra had laughed, and his shoulders had wiggled, and God, wasn’t it the cutest thing. And then he’d offered his hand.

“Ezra Fell,” he’d said. “And you are?”

“Crowley,” Crowley managed to respond.

“Delighted, Crowley. So what do you study?”

That was the beginning. It was easy, talking to Ezra— almost as easy as falling, or sauntering vaguely further into conversation. They talked about— oh, what did they talk about? Seemed like they’d blazed through a number of topics, really. Their studies, of course; their hobbies, where they’d been before coming here. The last movie they’d seen. The book Ezra was currently reading. The band that Crowley was currently into. Stars. Dolphins. Plants. Crepes. Crowley found that Ezra had a wry sense of humour, the kind you found in Dickens and Austen and Wilde. And Ezra was smart. Cheeky. Almost sly.

“You’re looking at me,” he’d said, rather boldly, during a lull in their conversation.

Crowley scoffed. “Yeah, you look at people when you talk to them, it’s just polite.”

“No. No, no, you’ve been _really_ looking at me,” Ezra teased. “If you were concerned about being polite you’d have taken your sunglasses off.”

He’d raised an eyebrow, then slid the glasses back up over his forehead, pushing wayward hairs out of his face. “Better?”

Crowley was used to people’s reactions when they first saw his eyes. As if he weren’t already enough of a weirdo, Crowley had to have the rarest eye colour of them all: amber. It was one of the reasons why he wore sunglasses all the time. He braced himself for Ezra to stare, to make a remark that Crowley would have heard before— _what’s up with your eyes? What are you on? What an interesting colour. Are you wearing contacts? Is that genetic?_

But Ezra hadn’t done any of those things. He’d actually said, “Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“Your eyes are— I’ve never anyone with that colour before.” And his entire body in that moment had seemed to curve inward toward Crowley.

Crowley’d waited, remembered how absolutely still he’d gone under the blond’s curious gaze, all his previous confidence vanishing in a split second.

Then a drop of water splashed on his face, and another, and they looked up to see a light drizzle come down.

“Oh,” said Ezra at once, and— this is was the part that really got to Crowley— he’d taken off his long coat, and spread it like a roof over the both of them.

“Quick thinking,” Crowley muttered under their cover. Ezra only chuckled. “Shall we get out of here?”

The party had practically ended by then. People were on their way out, picking up coats and shuffling toward the doors. A few unfortunate souls remained passed out where they lay. Ezra had arrived with his roommates, who had ditched him as soon as they got there and were now nowhere to be found.

Crowley had cleared his throat. “I took my car. I could, you know. Give you a lift. If you like.”

“Really?” and just like that Ezra changed again, from encroaching worry to overwhelming relief. He nearly sagged in on himself. “Oh- oh thank you. It’s been bothering me. I hope it isn’t a bother for you.”

Crowley had recognised something in his tone, something familiar— like Ezra had been used to being told he was a bother, that he was taking too long, taking up too much space. But that was all purely speculation on his part, wasn’t it? He grunted. “‘Course not. I’ll take you. Anywhere you want to go.”

He’d all but reached out his hand. If he had, would Ezra have taken it, as early as then?

“I do appreciate it—“

“‘S fine.”

“You are in a fit condition to drive, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” sighed Crowley. “Didn’t get a chance to get proper fucked up tonight. I’m kidding!” he exclaimed at Ezra’s reproachful gaze. “Hey, I am responsible as fuck, okay? Now c’mon, I didn’t park far.” He started sauntering off the verandah toward the little alleyway where he’d parked his car, a little beat-up bright red Honda Civic. Ezra followed eagerly, catching up until they were walking abreast.

He’d dropped Ezra back to his place, they exchanged numbers, and over the last few weeks carried on a lively correspondence. Usually texting or messaging, sometimes even running into one another on campus. Funny how you meet someone once and suddenly start seeing them everywhere, even when you didn’t before, although they insisted they had always been there. Fencing club, for example, trained in the gymnasium which Crowley walked through every week to the greenhouses where he’d collect plant cuttings for his room; turns out Ezra had been a member of the club the whole time, concealed behind a mesh fencing mask and too focused on wielding his epée to notice that Crowley was coming through. Once he did, however, he practically held up a sparring session to run toward him and say hi. Crowley had been surprised, but delighted. It was always a delight to see Ezra.

But he kind of wanted more than just chance encounters on campus, always rounding corners hoping Ezra would be on the other side, walking into lectures and assemblies vaguely scanning the throng for those unique white-blond curls, and driving home slower than usual hoping maybe Ezra would be walking back and needed a ride...

Well now it was Saturday night, and Crowley was solidly pining (although he didn’t know that was what he was doing) and now he was calling Ezra, and the phone was ringing.

It only took a couple of rings. That was a good sign, yes?

“Oh, hello,” came that bright, cheery voice. Crowley’s heart flip-flopped.

“Hello yourself,” he said. _Playing it cool starts now._

“Is it a good time?” Crowley asked nonchalantly.

“Couldn’t be a better time. I was just in the middle of working on a paper.”

Shit, he should have known Ezra was a conscientious student. “Oh— okay, uh, don’t let me bother you—“

“No! No, don’t hang up. It’s fine,” Ezra chuckled, “it’s fine, I needed the distraction— How are you?” His voice sounded like velvet through the phone, Crowley could listen to it all night.

“Could be better. Ya know.”

“I actually don’t.”

“Meh.”

“Oh,” said Ezra, at once sounding curious and concerned and maybe a little bit affectionate. “Well, I’d love to hear all about it.” 

Crowley pictured, despite himself, the blond sitting on a comfy couch somewhere in his accommodation— no, not sitting, lying, maybe? Was Ezra the type to sprawl? Was he lying upside-down with his feet up and his head hanging off the seat like a teenager, phone pressed against pale, silky curls?

Time to make a leap of faith. “That’s why I called. I was wondering if you’d— you’d like to meet?”

“Tonight?” A second’s hesitation, placed there for effect more than anything. “I don’t see why not. The paper can wait.”

Crowley grinned. “Great. So, where?”

“Hmm, you can come to mine, but my roommates are home.”

“Both of them?”

“Yeah.” Ezra actually sounded a bit apologetic.

“Well, I could just, y’know. Come over. Hang out. I’d like to get to know them too.” Crowley was astonished at the blatant bullshit coming out of his mouth right now, but anything— anything for Ezra, anything to get just a little bit closer to him, even if it meant other people getting in the way.

Ezra, however, chuckled. “No, you know what? I know a place, a bar...it’s not far, they’ll leave us alone there. You could, er, come pick me up? If it’s not too much trouble,” he added hastily.

“Absolutely,” said Crowley at once. “I’ll come get you. Seven.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

“No need. I remember.”

“You remember!” Ezra sounded delighted.

“‘Course,” Crowley said, fighting to keep the butterflies in his chest from bursting free and wreaking bloody havoc. “See you.”

“Can’t wait!” added Ezra, and before he hung up Crowley could imagine the little wiggle in Ezra’s shoulders as he said that. The thought brought an unexpected smile to his face.

So, okay. Okay, then. A date with Ezra. Well, not technically a date; not out loud, but in Crowley’s head, maybe. A date in principle.

What did a guy wear to a date-in-principle?

* * *

  
Black, that’s what. Black on black on black. Not like Crowley would wear anything else.

He pulled up in front of the student accommodation where he’d dropped Ezra off the first time at five minutes to seven. So what, he was excited. And it was always a good impression to be punctual. Crowley waited the remaining five minutes, and then three more just so he wouldn’t look too eager, before getting out of the car and ringing the doorbell.

The door was opened almost immediately, which sent a giddy rush surging all over Crowley; but that died down almost at once when he realised that the person at the door wasn’t Ezra.

“Oh,” said the man who’d answered, with a disdainful expression. “May I help you?”

“Uh, hi. I’m looking for...Ezra?” Crowley was mentally kicking himself. Roommates, of course. Why hadn’t he texted Ezra to meet him outside? What if Ezra wasn’t out to his roommates? (Not that that mattered, they weren’t dating, this wasn’t a date.)

“Oh?” The man said again, raising an eyebrow.

“Crowley! There you are,” Ezra exclaimed, appearing behind the man at the door and waving energetically. “Just give me a moment, I’ll be right there. Sandy, be nice,” he added emphatically.

Sandy sighed and leaned against the half-open door. “Would you like to come in?” His tone was nasal and sarcastic.

Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m good.”

Another figure came sidling out from the depths of the shared flat, this one taller and more intimidating than Sandy even in a grey sweatshirt and bedroom slippers. He took one look at Crowley and, not taking his eyes off him, said “You didn’t mention you were going out, Ezra.”

“It’s fine, Gabe!” came the blond’s voice.

“I thought you said you had to finish a paper.” Gabe plopped himself down on a beanbag chair and grabbed a magazine, all the while keeping his eyes on the redhead in their doorway. Crowley considered feinting a lunge at him, or hissing.

Ezra came bustling out, pulling on his cream coat. The coat that he’d used to shield them from the rain and change Crowley’s life forever. “I said it’s fine. It’s not due till Tuesday.” He rolled his eyes, smiled at Crowley. “Alright, let’s go. Just had to grab my phone. C’mon.”

Relieved, Crowley followed as Ezra brushed past him outside.

“Have a good time,” Sandy said, like he didn’t mean it at all.

“And stay safe,” said Gabe, like he didn’t really care.

“ _Thanks_ , guys!” Ezra called sarcastically. He grabbed Crowley’s wrist, and practically dragged him to the car.

“So,” said Crowley, as they settled into their seats, “roommates?”

“Yeah.” Ezra sighed. “Sorry if they gave you a hard time. Gabriel and Sandy can be...extremely judgmental.”

“I noticed,” chuckled Crowley. “I wonder how you stand it.”

Ezra shrugged. “Got used to it. Wasn’t too different from them, really, before.”

“Yeah?” Crowley leaned his forearms on the steering wheel. “What happened?”

Ezra turned to him with a wry, almost shy smile. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, whatever it was.” Crowley stuck the key in the ignition, “I’m glad I met you after things changed. You’re a right proper angel.” 

He was proud of how suavely he’d pulled that off, the smile he dropped in just at the end of the sentence before turning to focus on the road, leaving Ezra to blush and grin self-consciously in the passenger seat.   
  


* * *

The thing Ezra liked most about Crowley was that he _listened_.

He’d listened during their conversation on the verandah. He’d listened to every word, even though they’d just met, like he actually wanted to remember what Ezra was saying and say something back. He didn’t tell Ezra to shush, or that he talked too much, or let his eyes glaze over or turn away disinterestedly. And now, driving to the place Ezra had talked about, Crowley patiently listened to him give directions and actually followed them.

Between Crowley’s charming grin, elegant hands and adorable little stutter, if he wasn’t careful, Ezra feared he might just fall in love. Would that be so bad?

They parked a couple of blocks down from the bar and then, up the street lined with 24-hour groceries and late-night restaurants and people’s quiet, empty front courtyards, Ezra led Crowley to the old-fashioned pub that stood on a narrow corner. Through the pane glass windows Crowley could see red and blue neon lights, could hear laughter and the sound of glass rattling and clinking over the smell of what could only be fresh, hot chips.

The place wasn’t packed; in fact, while it could comfortably seat about fifty, there were only about seven or eight customers altogether. A trio of old blokes in the corner, laughing with their beer. A group of friends at the biggest table, modestly celebrating someone’s thirty-fifth birthday. The neon lighting came from a collection of vintage shop signs from varying points in history displayed across the red-brick walls, but the rest of the furniture was plush and old-fashioned. Everything about this place was anachronistic— a little bit like Ezra himself, who tonight was wearing brogues that Crowley was certain hadn’t been fashionable for a long time, but was also checking the weather on his Android.

“I love this place already,” Crowley blurted out, realising he hadn’t said anything since they came in. Ezra looked up from his phone and brightened.

“That’s great,” he said, sounding almost relieved. “I come here often, usually alone, usually in daytime. This place converts into a regular coffee shop in the mornings.” Ezra waved at the woman behind the bar, “Hi, Tracy!”

“Coo-ee, darling,” called Tracy, a curly-haired woman in her mid-forties who wore an elegant, long-sleeved garment that was halfway between silk kimono and evening gown. Idly, Crowley wondered if cultural appropriation was allowed to look this good. “Pleased to have you back. And you’ve brought a friend!”

“Well—“

“Anathema, love, Ezra’s here during pub hours. He’s got a friend with him!”

Ezra visibly reddened as a pretty waitress came bustling out of the small kitchen. She was tall, with long wavy hair half-done up in a messy bun and big round glasses.

“Hi Ezra! And hello...friend,” she added with a grin.

“Tracy. Anathema. This is Crowley,” said Ezra politely, giving Crowley a gentle shove forward so he could introduce himself.

“Uh, hi guys,” Crowley stammered.

“Crowley! Is that a first name or a last name?” asked Tracy.

Ezra cocked his head. “Huh. Good question.”

“It’s a last name, actually,” said Crowley. “Don’t care much for my first name. I’ve told you my first name, haven’t I?” he added anxiously, turning to Ezra.

There was a fond smile already fighting for visibility on the blond’s face. “No you haven’t.”

“Why don’t you sit down and tell him, then?” Tracy suggested. She pointed to a booth seat, “That’s Ezra’s favourite table.”

Once again Ezra’s hand was around Crowley’s wrist, pulling him along. “C’mon! Are you hungry? I’m a little hungry. Well, I’m always hungry, and the smell of those chips are particularly tempting...What do you like to drink? This is my favourite table ‘cause of the sign. ‘Chow.’”

Crowley couldn’t help but grin as he slid into the booth seat across the table from Ezra, “Is that the American fast food chain?”

“Yes. Cool, isn’t it?”

“Let me know when you’re ready to order!” called Anathema from the bar.

Ezra rolled his eyes, but fondly. “World’s laziest waitress. I’m joking.”

The world’s laziest waitress was actually quite swift at bringing their dinner and drinks, once Ezra had gotten round to actually deciding on what to eat. She made a point of punching Ezra playfully on the shoulder before leaving them alone again, but Ezra would be damned if she wasn’t cheekily keeping an eye— and an ear— on them whilst serving the other customers.

“You know, for someone so incredibly smart, I’m surprised you haven’t asked me my first name yet,” Crowley commented, putting a hot chip in his mouth. (It scalded. Perfect.)

“I assumed Crowley was a first name.”

“Anyone would suspect that Crowley isn’t a first name. It’s just odd, which is why I like it.“ Crowley pulled his sunglasses from the V-neck of his black top and put them on, without even thinking of it.

Ezra frowned at first, but glanced from the neon sign above them to Crowley, suddenly realising something. “Is that too bright for you?”

“Sorta,” mumbled Crowley.

“I didn’t know. Should we move?”

Bless him, Ezra had one leg out of the booth, ready and willing to relocate for the sake of Crowley’s comfort. Crowley shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. My eyes are just, just sensitive, I guess, they hurt after a while if it’s bright out. So I always keep my glasses on. Even at night, you know, driving, when other cars have their high beams on.”

“Oh, dear.” Again one of Ezra’s old-fashioned reactions. “And after what I said to you about being polite and looking people in the eye—“

“Hey,” sighed Crowley. “I told you, it’s fine. I’m used to it.”

All interest in finding out Crowley’s elusive first name was forgotten, as they fell into conversation about different things. After dinner Anathema brought them a couple more drinks at their request— something strong for Ezra and something not-as-strong (little more than a trickle of gin in a tall glass of tonic water) for Crowley. All the while, the pub started filling up with patrons, the atmosphere becoming noisier and livelier.

“So,” Ezra said at length, watching the lights reflect in the double dark mirrors of Crowley’s sunglasses, “I’ve been meaning to ask, Crowley. Is this technically a date?”

He watched the thin, dark arch of Crowley’s eyebrow raise above one lens. That was sexy. Why was that sexy? “Well. Uh. It could be. I’ll consider it a date if you will,” he added.

Ezra nodded decisively. “Right. Then it’s a date.”

Crowley grinned, “Just like that?”

“Yeah.”

“So, uh...how does this rate as a first date, then? Good enough for a second date?”

Ezra chuckled. “Good enough for a third.”

* * *

Crowley considered inviting Ezra back to his place. Nothing had to happen, he just...didn’t want to have to say goodbye. He usually made that invitation after a date, and it usually worked, and if it ended in sex, great. Well, ideally at least. He had a history of rushing into things, of falling for beautiful strangers and holding out for scraps of attention that meant more to him than it did to the other person. More often than not, moving fast meant falling hard.

He was not about to let himself down by doing that with Ezra.

So tonight, he paid for dinner, they said goodbye to Tracy and Anathema, and Crowley walked Ezra back to the car, annoying the blond by singing the song that had been playing in the club and threatening to disturb the neighbours by belting it on the street (complete with some very embarrassing air guitar moves.) He was surprised and delighted when Ezra grabbed his hand and practically dragged him across a zebra crossing to shut him up.

“Honestly, Crowley. Can’t take you anywhere,” scolded Ezra as they climbed into the Civic.

“Not even on a second or third date?” asked Crowley, and Ezra cackled. He noticed that Crowley kept his sunglasses on as they reached the main road, no doubt to block the glare of street lamps and headlights of other vehicles.

They pulled up in front of Ezra’s place at next to no time, but as soon as Ezra got out he could tell something was wrong. The lights in the house were all on, even at this hour, and there was shouting—

Crowley leaned over, peered out from his seat, “That can’t be good?”

“Shit,” said Ezra, noticing the motorcycle parked on the curb. He hastened back to Crowley’s car.

“Ezra, everything okay?”

“It’s Bea— Gabe’s crazy girlfriend,” He explained quickly, and winced as they heard something smash from inside the house. “They have a, er, tempestuous relationship.”

Crowley stared, recognising the motorcycle. “No, wait— not Beatrice Prince, the political science major? With the hat that looks like a fly?”

“Yeah— you know Bea Prince?”

Crowley laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I cannot believe your straight-laced, stick-up-the-arse roommate is dating _Bea fucking Prince._ After the dirty look he gave me when he saw we were hanging out tonight!”

“What can I say, Gabriel’s a hypocrite.”

They could hear Gabe shouting something, a shrill voice yelling back. Ezra peered into the car, apologetic.

“I can’t be here tonight.”

“No, you can’t,” Crowley agreed.

“Where can I go, though? This can take hours,” Ezra hissed, frustrated.

Crowley shrugged. “Take you back to mine?”

Ezra came over, leaned on the roof of the car to peer in through the window. He looked rather serious, and for a second Crowley thought his entire date was placed in peril.

But Ezra said, “Okay.”

“Great.” He started the engine.

“But first,” said Ezra, “tell me your first name. I think I ought to know someone’s first name before I go to their place,” he added, seeing Crowley’s incredulous look.

“Okay, fine,” sighed Crowley. He pulled his sunglasses down just a fraction, to peer at Ezra over the top. “My name...is Anthony.”

Ezra broke out into a huge smile, “Anthony? It’s lovely!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I thought it might be something a bit more embarrassing.”

“Anthony is embarrassing. Now are you getting in or not?” He revved the engine, just to make a point.

“Right,” said Ezra, and chuckling, opened the door and let himself inside.

* * *

So that was how Ezra ended up at Crowley’s place after all, standing in the middle of his room, hands behind his back and gazing at the myriad of posters that had been plastered across the walls. Crowley had explained to Ezra that he rented the extra room from a Mr. Shadwell, who lived upstairs and worked the night shift at campus security office. They had the place all to themselves. Ezra already loved this chance at a glimpse of Crowley’s personal life, one that he couldn’t help but hope to be part of. He loved the lush, leafy tangle of plant cuttings that screened the single wide window, loved how each poster revealed the kind of art, the kind of music that he liked. From the gap of wardrobe that was visible between sliding mirror doors Ezra could see rows of clothing— all black, of course.

“That’s nice,” he said, nodding at a corner of the room that seemed entirely devoted to several prints of the same vintage car. “What model is it?”

“1930s Bentley,” Crowley said with a grin. “I know they’re rare and crazy expensive and I won’t even get to touch one in my lifetime, but a man can dream.” 

“I thought you liked your Civic. It does fine.”

“Oh, she does excellent. But she’s not, ah, mine. Little going-away-to-college present. Which I did not ask for.” He crossed the room to put a CD into the old boom box on the desk. Music soon filled the air, played just low enough so they could keep having a conversation.

“I didn’t know you were into astronomy,” Ezra said softly, tugging a worn star map from under the textbooks and sketchbooks on Crowley’s desk.

“I’m not. I just look at the stars sometimes,” Crowley said, perching on the edge of his bed. “Casual interest, I guess. What do you like to do?”

“You know I read a lot.” Ezra paused. “I don’t...really have a lot of friends. You tend to go more toward books when you don’t have a lot of friends. Although one could say that reading keeps you from going out and...and making friends. Well.”

Crowley didn’t meet his eyes for a while. Shame, Ezra liked looking at his eyes. “So when was the last time you went on a date, then?”

Ezra regarded him wryly, “Several months. Did not end well, I can tell you that.”

“Ooh.” Crowley leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, “Do say more.”

He sighed, “You know. A friend of Gabe’s, named Michael. He hooked us up, good intentions without really, er, understanding that wasn’t what I needed...”

“How bad was this Michael bloke, then?”

“Lady,” Ezra corrected.

Crowley’s eyes went wide, “There’s a chick out there named Michael?”

“Oh, please don’t start,” sighed Ezra. “Bottom line is, that date ended so terribly that I, well. Suffice to say my self-esteem took a significant hit.” He fiddled with his cuff buttons. “Figured it would be best if I, ah, stopped trying the whole dating thing for a while.”

“Mm.”

“And you?” Ezra countered. “Do you often pick up strangers at random parties?”

“Yeah, guess so. Or they find me. I make myself easily found.” Crowley rested his chin in the palm of one hand. “It’s easy for me to meet people.”

“Anyone you stay in touch with?”

“Nah. Practically strangers, if you ask me. I prefer to keep it casual.” He finally looked up at Ezra. “So, no pressure or anything.”

“Oh.” It took Ezra a second to realise what he meant, and he sighed in barely-concealed relief. Or was it resignation? “Well, if you say so, Anthony.”

Crowley pulled a face. “Stop.” But Ezra was fiddling with the edge of the starmap, pulled it just enough to reveal a black notebook with initials embossed on the bottom corner in gold.

“A.J.C.?” said Ezra aloud. “A’s for Anthony. C’s for Crowley. But J...”

“Ah, ah,” said Crowley, wagging a playful finger and putting it to his lips.

“Come on. It can’t be as bad as you think Anthony is. Why don’t you like it, anyway? You know,” Ezra went on, “we both have names of saints, or people in the Bible. Anthony and Ezra.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Nothing biblical or holy about me. You, on the other hand, are literally an angel.”

Now it was Ezra’s turn to pull a face. “That is so...”

“Corny?” Crowley chuckled. He got off his perch on the edge of the bed, sauntered into the middle of the room. Ezra noticed his hips swing in time to the music. “Anthony’s corny. It’s common. S’why I go by my last name. It’s cool.”

“That it is.”

A teasing smile crept its way onto Crowley’s face. He held out a hand. “Dance with me?”

“I’m not very good,” said Ezra, but he took Crowley’s hand anyway and let the redhead pull him close. Not too close to be uncomfortable, but just enough for it to qualify as dancing.

“You’re doing amazing,” said Crowley, at risk of sounding like an overshared meme. He noticed Ezra kept his eyes down, watching their feet, wary of taking up space.

“Good,” mumbled the blond.

Crowley raised his arms and swayed to the rhythm, fists clenched loosely as if trying to grasp sound from the air. With Ezra so close, it was exhilarating. It was almost too much. The boy who’d once been nothing more than a beautiful stranger who admired Crowley’s eyes, who was supposed to be a fleeting encounter on the verandah or at the most, a casual date, was wedging himself further and further into the confines of Crowley’s heart— which was not, contrary to whatever he told himself, so tough and hardened after all.

It was Saturday night and Anthony Crowley realised he was in love.

And it was terrifying. But he couldn’t resist.

He was pulled out of his reverie by Ezra’s soft chuckle. “You’ve got hips like Jagger.”

Crowley was a tad surprised that Ezra, with his old-fashioned preferences, could make a reference like that. “And you’ve got two left feet, Angel.”

Ezra’s head snapped up, but not too abruptly to make Crowley think that something was wrong. His eyes had never been greener, and his mouth...Crowley had never seen a mouth that he would kill to kiss. The thought was almost embarrassing. Of course, Ezra wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“Call me that again,” he said. No, _commanded_.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What, ‘Angel’?”

They were standing chest to chest, and Ezra was regarding him with a very peculiar expression indeed; eyebrows raised and mouth pulled slightly into just enough of a smile to tease, not tempting him, because Crowley was already there, but daring him to make the first move -

Crowley realised that at that moment they both wanted the same thing. Ezra was just being a bastard about it.

He rolled his eyes and kissed him anyway.

And Ezra kissed him back.

The force almost knocked Crowley back a few inches; not only was Ezra solid and surprisingly strong, but his kiss was demanding, searching, wringing a wretched noise from Crowley’s throat that sounded like something between a whine and a laugh. When he peeled off— because that was what he did, lips sliding off Crowley’s jaw, tasting his skin, Ezra moved his hands to Crowley’s hips. Tugged at the hem of Crowley’s black top, insistent and hesitant at once. Somehow Crowley could feel a history behind the motion, as if someone, or everyone, had told Ezra he didn’t deserve to ask for what he wanted.

Crowley’s heart jumped, bounced in his chest like a cartoon ball. This, at least, he knew how to handle. Against Ezra’s ear he hissed, “You want this off?”

“I want it all off,” came the reply, and Crowley chuckled. _Fuck yes,_ he thought, _anything, Ezra, anything._

Sliding the fabric up his torso and over his head (Ezra’s hands chasing it off, running up the bare skin), steering Ezra onto the bed, that was familiar territory. What made it different and almost jarring was the way Ezra was so...so _gentle_ with him, fingertips skimming the bones of Crowley’s spine and every dip in the muscles of his back like he was something precious and fragile, Ezra’s tongue making languid, almost polite inquiries into Crowley’s mouth as if trying to learn his language through taste. His every touch was eager, but apprehensive. _Is this okay?_ Ezra seemed to ask, before his hands claimed a different part of Crowley’s body, _is this okay, is this okay? May I?_

 _Yes,_ Crowley responded, giving into the softness of Ezra’s form. _Yes. It’s okay. It’s all okay._

It was more than okay, in the end. It was perfect.

* * *

Ezra enjoyed indulgence. He liked feeling good, and he liked it when he got what he wanted, although working up the courage to ask for it was rare— and getting it was a whole different story altogether. So when the moments he did get what he wanted came around, and things seemed too good to be true (like an amazingly unexpected night with the dashing redhead he’d met at a party,) Ezra knew it was best to not be greedy.

It was best to know when to stop. At least, for now.

So that was why, when Crowley awoke and rolled over, he did so to find Ezra already sitting up and putting his clothes back on.

“Um,” said Crowley, before he could really think of anything to say.

“Hey.” smiled Ezra. “Good morning.”

“Are you leaving?”

Ezra nodded decisively, keeping his eyes on the window across him. “Got a paper to edit, remember?”

“Well— let me drive you home.”

“It’s fine.” He leaned over and kissed Crowley on the cheek. “I’ll take the bus. You should, get some rest. Can’t imagine I let you have much sleep last night.” Ezra ran a cheeky finger from the hollow of Crowley’s throat to his navel.

“Oh, fuck’s sake. You’re killing me.”

“I do mean it, dear. Don’t worry about me.”

Crowley sank back into his pillow. Well, he was tired. He needed the rest after last night— but then he’d also needed last night, the drunken and natural way they sank into one another, the way Ezra had held him. That was...well, different. Now Ezra was preparing to leave and take whatever magic he had brought into Crowley’s life with him.

Ezra gazed at him affectionately. “You don’t have to call me, if you don’t want,” he said softly.

“What?” croaked Crowley. “W-why wouldn’t I call you?”

A soft shrug, “I don’t know. Maybe you’d forget. Maybe it’s what you do. Get found by strangers, take them home, let them become strangers again...”

“It’s because they only come along to do me wrong,” said Crowley quietly. “Every time I take a chance, I get hurt. In- in more ways than one, I guess.” He couldn’t help the hollow laugh that forced itself out of him. Fuck’s sake, it was (what was it, eight in the morning? Eight-ish?) and here he was going right into the tragic backstory.

“Oh,” sighed Ezra. He reached out to cup Crowley’s face with his hand. “Why would anyone want to hurt you, love? You’re brilliant. You’re gorgeous.”

Crowley shut his eyes. “Mixed signals, I guess? Classic case of a player getting played? ‘S my own fault, really. But you’re different.” He opened his eyes again, caught the beam of sunlight shining through the gap in the blinds and painting a feathered-edge stripe diagonally across Ezra’s chest. “You’re right here now and I think you’ll stay. Did I get that wrong?”

Ezra broke out into a smile that made even the stray sunbeam dim in comparison. He took Crowley’s hand, kissed it gently like the old-fashioned gentleman that he was.

“You didn’t get it wrong,” he said. “I just wanted to be sure. You’re not the only one who’s been hurt before.”

Crowley didn’t end up driving Ezra home, but he did see him as far as the front door. Ezra left with that cheeky, charming smile of his and another kiss on Crowley’s cheek. Once again, different— no one else ever waited long enough for Crowley to see them out, much less kissed him goodbye, even if they did come back around to take whatever they needed from him at the time. Crowley had to remind himself not to gobble up all this attention, this bare minimum of affection, all at once.

“See you soon,” said Ezra.

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “Soon.”

* * *

On the walk up to the bus stop Ezra could not stop replaying their conversation over and over in his head. There had to be something wrong, right? Something he’d missed? It all seemed too good to be true, the promise of Crowley calling him again, another night, another date, another _like this._ After all, wasn’t he Mr. Ezra Fell-For-It-Again, the gullible one? The optimist who learned, over time, to shut his heart off against hope?

He thought about that night at the party. He and Crowley had both taken a chance, and it had led them here.

Ezra smiled to himself. It would be quite all right, he knew. They’d go slowly; they’d test waters and leave spaces and take turns healing. And it was like standing at the edge of cliff you tried to avoid all your life, only this time, Ezra had someone by his side, just as scared as he was. Just as brave.

_I think it’s finally safe for me to fall._

**Author's Note:**

> Listen here: https://open.spotify.com/track/42SOtYBdnfj9zEdZSlAq5k?si=mkbhzB5cSraoqI87RqLRXg


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